He brings his focus closer, resting his palm on Hythlodaeus' chest. Right where the soul would rest. "So this is your test, then?" he asks. "A question of what I would give to see my goals realised?"

If he closes his eyes, he can recall his friend's vibrant soul. A gleaming amber bearing the warmth of a summer's day; the excited hues of a sunset; the playful spark of sunlight on water; as comforting as the firebird upon his shoulder.

"I can't do this," he says, swallowing thickly, his fingers curling tightly into his friend's shirt, "Look at how many there are. Zodiark was meant to save us. Yet it has been nigh on twelve millennia now and I have saved no-one." Drawing in ragged breaths, he begins to cry silently.

"Zodiark, help me, I know not what to do."

Behind Hythlodaeus, the Architect smiles.